


Of a Cold Elven Heart

by yaruna



Series: Of Years Gone By [16]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Gen, POV First Person, Thranduil POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:32:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4930600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yaruna/pseuds/yaruna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil POV</p><p>Wherein Thranduil has to make a decision he would rather not</p><p>All parts of the series are stand-alone one-shots, though some may have references to previous happenings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of a Cold Elven Heart

I had a headache. I had not had a headache for an incredible amount of years, but during the last few days I have seen them much too often. The dwarves that were part of a delegation from Laketown were "getting on my nerves", as Legolas would so eloquently say.

I raised my head from where I rested it on my hands when I heard hushed voices outside of my throne room. At least it was not the brutish voices of the dwarves, but rather the soft tunes of elves. It helped little however, as even their voices make my head ache further.

'You say it! Please!'

'No, I could not.'

'Yes, you can. He  _likes_  you.'

I sighed and sat up straight in the throne assuming my normal, indifferent look and called out.

'Enter, and speak!' I said it loud enough to be heard through the doors, and the bickering outside stopped.

The doors opened slowly, and Egnaspen walked in hesitantly, followed by Amarth and Gaerphen. They were weary, looking as though they had not rested for a long while, and now they were looking at each other with worried gazes, obviously trying to get each other to speak.

'Report!' I said when none spoke, and Egnaspen sighed softly.

'King Thranduil.' he said and bowed, hand against his heart. 'We were on patrol along the Misty Mountains, when we found tracks from orcs. We followed them into the Mountains.' He looked at me in concern; he knew I did not condone marching outside of Mirkwood on patrol. I gestured for him to continue; for that was not what he had been the most troubled about divulging.

'After we were halfway to the top, we found several dead orcs.' He swallowed slightly and I felt my gut drop. I desperately wanted to tell him to stop, for I had a creeping feeling of what else they had found. But I kept my face cool. Soon they would tell me my son was dead, so I steeled myself for this.

'We found these knives, my king.' He said, and Amarth went forward with my son's twin blades. I thought I had been prepared but a chill ran through me, and my heart dropped a bit. 'We followed for a long while, until we were by a cave.' He looked directly into my eyes then, and gathered his courage.

'Legolas is captured, my lord.'

My heart hit the floor then. I wanted to curl up. I wanted to cry. I wanted to shout. But I could not do any of these things. So I grabbed onto those feelings and crushed them under my thumb. I could never show my greatest weakness.

'You left him?'

'We could not get to him, my lord. But he is certainly… alive…' he said, and under his breath he added, 'if you can call it that.' He realized I had heard, and looked at me in horror.

'He was,' he swallowed audibly, 'screaming, my lord. They were torturing him.' He closed his eyes and shivered, apparently disturbed by the memory.

'I understand.' I said calmly, though I wanted to scream at them for leaving my son behind. Cowards! Yet I knew that was my feelings as a father coming forth, and not the feelings of a king. Thus I kept my mouth silent, and my face carefully controlled to not divulge any of my thoughts.

'Amarth, fetch Norawarth, Erynor and Gwathon, and then return to me. Egnaspen, Gaerphen, you are dismissed.'

'My lord,' all three said, bowed, and left.

They were torturing him. Gold-crazed dwarves have tortured him before, but this was orcs. And, cynical as I am, I do not believe the dwarves are even close to the orcs in their torturing methods. I could not imagine what vile treatment they were giving to Legolas at this very moment. How I wished I could take his place, how I wished that I could at least go fetch him.

But I could not. Were I to leave now, the relations with Laketown, as well as Erebor, would fall apart. I could not risk that. Not even for my son. How many times have I found it impossible to combine my role as a king and as a father? How many times during Legolas' short life have I had to forsake him due to my duties to our kingdom?

Unbidden, a memory of Legolas when he was just an elfling, standing outside of the throne room, waiting patiently for me, entered my mind. I had had a headache that day also and had not noticed my son until I heard a soft shuffle behind me. I turned to see him look up at me carefully, almost frightfully, knowing me well enough to see my mood. I had sighed, not really having the patience to deal with him after the long day I had had. But the broken look that appeared on my child's face had immediately made me reconsider and I opened my arms wide as I kneeled to get to his level. His grin nearly split his face and he jumped into my arms.

How I wished now that I had never let him go.

I straightened in my throne as I heard footsteps. The elves declared themselves and stepped inside. My three most loyal warriors, and my very best hunter walked through the gate, already armed and ready. As a part of the royal guard, none of them are strangers to fights, and they were the only ones I could trust with the retrieval of my child.

'You will ride to the Misty Mountains immediately, and find the prince. Save him from the orcs, at any cost necessary!' I declared and got four deep bows, before they turned and began to leave.

'Gwathon!' I said before he was out, and he turned back towards me. I waited until the others had left, steeling myself before I could speak the words that had to be spoken. I locked our eyes together, thinking that I owed him at least that before speaking the order.

'If you cannot save him, kill him.' I said it with a steady voice. I had been unsure I would be able to. I was loathe to ask him to become a kinslayer, but even more loathe to the idea of my son suffering endlessly at the hands of orcs. Weighing the happiness of my son against the happiness of another, even a friend, was unfortunately a much too easy thing to do.

I heard him swallow, and I was almost relieved when I saw sadness come into his eyes, he would not enjoy such a task, but I knew he saw the necessity of it. At least I knew that our people had loved my son.

'Yes, my lord!' He said with a small bow.

When he left I once more relaxed my back, and let my head fall backwards against the large throne. I closed my eyes, feeling my head thundering worse than before, and let out a long sigh. My son needed me, but so did my kingdom. I would have to leave the safety of my son with those I trusted most, but I so longed to see my boy. I knew that if I were to go, and both of us were to die, it would gain none. No matter what was to come, it was out of my hands now. I would have to focus on my duties still remaining in the halls. I knew what I had to do.

During the days I would be the strong king everyone expected me to be.

During the nights, I would be a father who worries in vain for his son, not able to do anything else.

Sometimes I hate being king.


End file.
